Astrid Amara (15 page)

My head jerked up from under the covers. I frowned at the sudden change of topics.

“Tomorrow, assuming flights are on schedule. Why?” My stomach churned.

Ethan shrugged. “Just wondering.”

“When’s your flight?”

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“Next week.” Ethan shoved his hand under the comforter and began stroking his dick

himself. He smiled at me lasciviously. “A whole week without your sweet lips.”

My heart fluttered. “Does that mean you plan on calling me when you return to

Seattle?”

Ethan frowned. “Of course I am.”

I told my anxieties to go screw themselves. Even so, all my mind could think was, this

is how it will end. He isn’t going to call. This is how Ethan Rosenberg is going to finally,

irrevocably, break my heart.

Ethan rolled over and pinned me under him, forcing my hands down on the bed. He

glared at me. “Jonah.” His voice was rough. “I’m not letting you go so easily.”

I looked away from his burning gaze. “I understand if this is just a fling, you know.

Holidays, and tragedy, and lukshen kugel…it can go to a man’s head.”

Ethan stared angrily.

“And I would not be surprised if that’s all this is. Hey, I’m okay with it. I just…I want

to be clear, so I’m not waiting for a call when you don’t intend to --”

Ethan kissed me. I opened my mouth and he pushed inside, his tongue plunging deep,

and I sank back into the bed, luxuriating in the feel of being so fully possessed.

He broke off and glared at me once more. “What is it going to take to convince you

that I’m in love with you?”

I was breathless from the kiss, from the words, and stared without speaking.

“I’m going to see you,” he said. “I’m going to date you. And I’m going to make love to

you.” Ethan kissed me again, his hands stroking along my sides, dipping to my inner thighs.

My cock reached upward in a mighty attempt to grow big enough to reach his mouth.

Ethan touched my nose. “Besides, I told you I was your boyfriend.”

“I know.”

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“And I don’t say things I don’t mean.” I nearly protested but he cut me off. “Not

anymore. Not in years. I want you, I want to be with you. And I am going to call you.”

The last of my tension fled, leaving me with nothing but contentment in my heart and

a boner poking rudely into Ethan’s stomach.

“Don’t let me forget to give you my phone number then,” I told him.

“I already have it.” Ethan shrugged. “I asked your mother for it when I moved to

Seattle last month, but I’ve been too chickenshit to call.”

I reached once more for his hot flesh. “It will be nice to finally screw you without the

impending threat of my mother.” I ducked under the covers and pulled his hot, hard cock

into my mouth.

Ethan moaned and squirmed, legs widening to allow me better access. But under the

covers, the smell of my own body, six days without a shower, hit me and I resurfaced. “I

stink.”

“I don’t care.” Ethan’s hands were gently, but persistently, encouraging me back down

to his cock.

“I do. I can’t get in the mood while I smell like fried potatoes, pond scum, and three-

day-old sperm. Let’s take a shower.”

He grinned against my lips. His hands stroked me repeatedly. “I don’t know if I can

make it that far without coming.”

I snorted. “Aren’t you still supposed to be worried about my body temperature or

something? A hot shower would be healthy.”

“Good idea.” He kissed me again and then jumped out of bed. He yanked on his pants

and a hoodie. “Hold on.” He stepped outside. I could hear him talking quietly with my

mother. A moment later he returned. “Come on, the coast is clear. I told your mother it was

imperative for your health that you get the first hot shower.”

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“Did you tell her I needed your help?” I asked. As soon as I flung off the comforter I

shuddered. Even with the central heat, the chill of a week of icy air sank into my bones.

“She politely offered to keep everyone downstairs for the next half hour.”

I shook my head. Who would ever think the day would arrive that I would be

considering fucking another guy in my parents’ house, with them still in it?

Still, the feel of his cock in my hands drove me toward the bathroom with anticipation.

The thrill of the secretiveness fueled my actions. I cranked on the water and stepped inside.

The water cascaded over me and I closed my eyes. It felt amazing. There is nothing quite like

bathing after a week of hanging around in one’s own filth. I luxuriated in the heat, in the

bathroom light, in the mere fact that I was alive and all was well in the world.

There was a brief knock at the bathroom door, and then Ethan stepped in. “Hi.”

“Want to join me?” I asked.

Ethan’s smile lit up his eyes and made him look even more boyishly handsome. “Of

course.”

Ethan undressed quickly. I hadn’t seen him undress by anything but candlelight before.

The bathroom lights blazed and highlighted every shift of muscle, every pale expanse of skin.

His dark chest hair dipped downward to a nest of pubic hair, out of which stood his cock,

half-erect and ruddy with color.

Ethan looked over my thinner body appreciatively. He stepped inside quickly, and shut

the glass door. I pulled him to me and we kissed, the heat of the shower relaxing me, but the

thrust of his tongue speeding my heart.

“You are beautiful,” Ethan whispered. I ran my hands over his firm chest, slick with

water, thinking the same thing. “Absolutely beautiful,” he repeated. His hands ran along my

spine, cupping and kneading my buttocks. “I want to fuck you.”

“Okay,” I said, breathless. Okay? God, I was as bad at the romantic innuendo as Ethan.

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His kiss never ended. I gasped for breath whenever he broke to suck my lower lip, or

lavish attention on my neck. Our cocks slicked together in the water, rubbing against each

other in almost painful friction, and when I looked down at the sight, I moaned at the beauty

of it. My cock caught on his balls and I pressed forward for more, making Ethan moan as

well.

I reached for the shower gel and washed us off, lathering the soap thickly on his chest.

Ethan reciprocated, but his gaze was distracted, his focus lost as his fingers repeatedly

reached behind me, massaging my ass, pulling me open with each stroke of his palm.

“Hold on,” he whispered. I loved his rough, throaty voice. He opened the shower door

briefly and he fumbled with wet hands in the pockets of his jeans.

He pulled out a packet of lube and a condom.

I raised my eyebrow. “Pretty confident in yourself, aren’t you?” I said, but I laughed to

take off the sting.

Ethan smiled. “I told you before. I hoped.” He dexterously rolled the condom on

himself and ripped open the lube. “Do you want to brace yourself against the wall?”

I turned, planting my spread palms against the tile, changing my angle slightly so the

water from the showerhead landed on my neck and not my head. I spread my legs wider and

suppressed the shudder of anticipation. I often got nervous about this, but almost always

enjoyed it eventually. I just hoped that Ethan was a gentle lover.

And then I realized, what the hell was I thinking? The man was a gastroenterologist.

Didn’t that mean he signed some sort of oath? He probably excelled at everything anal.

I laughed at the thought.

“What’s funny?” he asked, his voice gruff. He kissed my neck.

“Nothing. You.” His kisses trailed down my spine and I shivered despite the hot water.

I attempted to crack a joke but then his greased finger circled my hole, gentle and rhythmic,

and I moaned instead. I pushed back onto his finger and it slipped inside.

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“What’s the hurry?” he whispered.

“My parents have the shittiest water heater,” I responded. “Just a warning.”

Ethan’s laugh was low and husky. He did not speed up his motions, but he did sink his

finger deeper, up to the knuckle. As he stroked my prostate, I felt a current of pleasure bolt

through me. I rubbed the soapy lather on my dick with my hand, stroking in rhythm with

Ethan’s finger.

My warning about the time limitations of 1970s water heaters went unheeded. He was

relentlessly thorough. I once dated a guy who couldn’t get his dick in fast enough. But Ethan

stretched and circled, each pass offering a glance against the part of me that made me

shudder with joy.

“Jesus,” I whispered, as his fingers pushed deep into me.

Ethan laughed again. “There you go with that blasphemy again.”

“Jews don’t believe in blasphemy,” I said, trying to be cocky, but I was shuddering, and

my voice sounded weak and faint.

“Lucky for us,” Ethan said. His fingers slipped out slowly, and before I could really

register their absence I felt the hot thickness of his cock press at my entrance. “How do you

feel?” He whispered.

“Ready.” The stretching began at once, my body widening to accommodate his

thickness. It was more, more than I thought I would have inside me, and I groaned at the

breadth of him, at the sheer power of him, the maddening slowness of his entry. I was being

impaled and I loved it, each small movement he made changing my body, making me shift to

accommodate him.

I breathed deeply, getting used to the feel of being so full.

“Still okay?” he said. I couldn’t see his face but his voice sounded strained, as if he were

about to come at any moment.

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In response I tentatively pushed back. I felt a shock through my system, felt his

presence in my toes, in my arms, through my belly. Ethan moaned into my back. His hands

shook as they gripped my hips.

“Okay,” I said again, pressing back once more. Ethan began a rhythm and I

reciprocated, push and pull, his strokes slick with lubrication, sliding nearly out of me before

slowly pushing back in. It was too slow, but it was also too much and too good. My need

wildly spurred me on. I couldn’t last long, stuffed full and aching for even more. I pumped

my cock in my hand, oblivious to everything but the delirious sensation of Ethan

surrounding me, inside of me.

Ethan pushed deeper, faster, and then he reached around and deftly grabbed my cock,

milking it with his fist, and I returned my hand to the wall to give me more leverage as I

pushed back.

He slammed into me. He made a small keening noise, a moan of pleasure that started

low and grew in volume with each powerful thrust. He lifted up on his toes and changed his

angle, and I staggered and then came, semen spurting onto the tile, over his hand, spilling

into my pubic hair. Ethan’s arm curled around my chest and pulled me to him and then he

impaled me, holding me still, as he trembled and came, small pulses shuddering through him

into me.

He didn’t let me go. His grip was tight and protective. But he didn’t say a word.

“Are you still alive back there?” I finally asked.

Ethan laughed breathlessly. “Jesus!”

“See? You’re doing it too.”

“That was…God. I want to do it again.” He slowly unwrapped his arms and pulled out

of my ass.

“Yeah?” My stomach fluttered, love and sated sleepy sexual release mingling to create a

coma of satisfaction.

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Ethan tossed the condom in the toilet and then grabbed the soap. He lathered us both

once more to wash away the last of the lubricant and my release. As he cleaned me, he

fingered my opening once more.

“You know, the water really isn’t going to last a second round,” I said, laughing.

Ethan shook his head. “Nah, I’m just checking to make sure I didn’t hurt you.”

“I’m fine.”

“I know, but I feel better checking, and --”

“Look at me,” I demanded. “I’m fine.”

Ethan looked at me. His look turned from calculating to hungry in four seconds flat.

“I’m fine,” I said once more.

He shook his head and tsked. And then he froze. “Oh God. I just ‘tsked’ like your

mother.”

I nodded gravely. “We have to get out of this house.”

* * * * *

driveway was clear, Aunt Goldie and Matthew said their farewells. Matthew appeared

contrite, although he looked longingly at the pushke as he departed. I didn’t spare Matthew a

second glance myself but I regretted seeing Aunt Goldie go.

Daniel and Rachel ventured into town and returned with pizza, wine, and a fresh

tossed salad from the grocery. It wasn’t a very traditional dinner for the last night of

Hanukkah, but none of us seemed to mind. Uncle Al, Daniel, and Rachel planned on leaving

directly after dinner.

Of course, the topic of conversation now was what to do with the pushke. Thanks to

the plastic bag Matthew had thoughtfully wrapped around it before covering it in wrapping

paper, it had weathered its plunge into the Feingold’s duck pond well.

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While Ethan and I had been busy introducing my parents’ guest bathroom to its first